I’m nearly out of Colorado and I am running late. It’s hard to chastise myself too hard about this as, had I not taken exactly the course of action and days off that I did, I would have hit the snow too early and either had some massive mishap or had to retreat and skip some of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever walked through. This seems like a good deal to me, even if it does mean potentially getting snowed on in Montana.
The last few weeks have been breathtaking, so much so I would actually gladly turn around right now and walk them in the other direction. The landscape, the sky, the rivers, the storms and the trail all seem to have been amped up to insane proportions – everything just got a whole lot bigger. From the moment we separated from the Colorado Trail, a 484 mile route from Denver to Durango, this has been the case. Glorious, green mountain ridges undulate and stretch in every direction, wild animals and wildflowers abound, pristine lakes and alpine meadows surprise and delight and the climbs (oh the climbs!) have stretched upwards into oblivion.
My legs feel amazing… Mostly. Some days they power under me like two great locomotives, not bothered about up or down, just raring to move me through this landscape. Right now, for example, I have just finished walking 26 miles and am propped up on a log in a meadow waiting for my hiking companions whom I haven’t seen since I left camp this morning, I have been waiting here for an hour and I could well be here for another. I felt so good all day that I barely stopped for a break, other than to get water and quickly wolf down a sandwich, as a result I got massively ahead. Despite this marathon day, I honestly don’t feel tired. I am 13 miles to a road and a town and feel like I could easily walk that distance right now, the terrain would suit it, it’s mostly flat or down hill.
However, all of this can change instaneously. Some days (or rather some parts of some days) you just cannot get yourself moving. You know those days? We all get them I am sure, but where as you at home might just be mildly underperfroming at work, being a little grumpy and off with food servers or flagrantly ignoring your children’s cries for attention, I am up at around thirteen thousand feet in either blasting sun, hail or soul-numbing rain, with the equivalent weight of a medium sized toddler on my back, trying to haul myself up and over some rocky/grassy extrusion and then safely descend the other side. Add to this the excitement of an imminent, or indeed present, lightning storm and you can see how I might struggle. Whether this is because of diet, sleep, fluctuations in the earth’s gravity or just plain lethargy is at this point unknown.
I have fourteen-hundred miles left to hike, I guess I best get to it.